


Claiming Attention

by fineandwittie



Category: Will (TV 2017)
Genre: Another party fic, I can't help myself, I intended to write porn, M/M, NOT PWP, S1 E4: A Brave New World, Spoilers, This got plotty, i don't know what happened, rather more 'porn? what porn?'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineandwittie/pseuds/fineandwittie
Summary: The morning after the party, Will goes to give the manuscript back to Southwell, but runs into Kit Marlowe instead.





	Claiming Attention

Will blinked awake, groggy and pain fogged. His head felt like he’d cracked it against something the day before and he couldn’t quite think through the haze. He was alone in his room, fully dressed and stinking of something sickly sweet. He frowned down at himself.

There was a glass of water next to his bed, which he drank from greedily until the pain receded. 

With the lessening of his headache, Will’s memories returned. The party…

The drug.

Alice. He remembered her storming in and putting out the burning pages of Southwell’s book. He remembered her yelling about it. She was right. He had endangered her and her family. 

Why had he done it? Because of his faith? Was it God’s will that he risk these people’s lives? Was it God’s will that innocent people be caught up in his cousin’s mad schemes, in his thirst for glory, in his anger?

Will swallowed against the emotion that seemed to be crawling up his throat. 

No. No, he didn’t think that was the will of God. Only the will of Southwell. And he would not do his cousin’s bidding.

Will rose and dressed, stuffing his cousin’s book into his satchel and slinging it over his shoulder. Down in the street, the very last of his headache fled him.

He was halfway to Southwell’s before he noticed that someone was trailing him. The back of his neck prickled with it. He ducked down an alley and waited for whoever it was to follow.

Marlowe rounded the corner lazily, as though expecting Will to have stayed put. 

“Kit!”

A smile curled across the man’s mouth. “Kit, am I now? Well, then, Will, well met this fine morning.”

Will frowned at the pleasantries. “Why were you following me?”

The smile widened. “We have much to discuss, you and I. Come. Break your fast with me and I shall explain.”

Marlowe leaned expectantly against the wall. Will shifted, unease at still carrying Southwell’s book settling into his gut, but returned the smile. “Yes, alright.” He followed Marlowe out of the alley and back into the streets. “I hope I did not shame you at the party last night. I imagine I behaved quite poorly.”

Marlowe laughed. “Not at all. You made quite the impression. I expect you will receive your invitation to the next one from Francis directly. He was delighted. Not many men are willing to challenge me to a battle of wits and fewer still can claim my attention, let alone my friendship.”

Will grinned, feeling daring, important. “Well then. I will consider myself lucky, for I have always been an admirer of your talented pen and now that I know you, I am equally impressed by your talented tongue.”

Marlowe’s eyebrow arched and Will realized just how his compliment sounded. He flushed a little, but did not withdraw it. 

“Perhaps, Will Shakespeare, you will have an opportunity to test out my talented tongue before the day is done. Before pleasure though, will have to come business.”

The table was freshly set for two when he arrived at Marlowe’s house. But not, as was tradition, on opposite ends. Instead, the two settings were across from one another, so that they would be constantly looking at each other. Will felt a shiver run down his spine, at the thought of Marlowe’s burning gaze on him for such a prolonged period.

“Before we dine, tell me. What is in that satchel?”

Will flinched. Marlowe’s mouth curled into that smirk again. 

“It is something I must be rid of, something I want to part of.”

“Ah. You were taking it to Southwell. Something Catholic then?” Will remained silent, forcing himself to meet Marlowe’s gaze. Kit shrugged. “I had hoped it was a play.”

Will forced a smile. “Nothing so lovely as that.”

Kit gestured for Will to sit and sat down across the table from him. “I must beseech you then, if you will not reveal the secret in your bag, to share with me what you saw last night.”

Will blinked and heard an echo of Kit calling after him as he stumbled away. Kit’s voice demanding to know what he had seen. The weight of Kit’s body pressing him into the floor.

Will tilted his head and regarded him. “Why is it so important to you? You were frantic last night.”

Kit leaned his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together, and tapped his fingers against his lips. Will could not tell if he was thinking or stalling. “Inspiration is…illusive. The muse is a cruel bitch. I must find some new inspiration. I must write.”

Will watched him speak, watched the small movements of his body. “No.”

Kit frowned. “What?”

Will shook his head. “No. I think you’re lying. Or…that’s not the whole truth. Why do you want to know? If you answer me honestly. Fully. I’ll tell you.”

Kit stared at him for a long moment before, very deliberately, turning his attention to the food set out on the table. They ate in silence for several minute. “Someone, who I…care about very much…is dying. I cannot seem to…accept this. I cannot let him ago. I need to understand death, to conquer it, to overcome it. Or my fear of it. To either steal him from Death or know that this is not his end.”

Will nodded, satisfied and a little ashamed. “From what I saw, I would tell you that this mortal coil is not our end. I saw Baxter and another older death, my uncle. Both seemed either to be in Hell or some sort of hellish limbo. I also saw the spectral form of my cousin.” Will paused. Marlowe was staring at him with the rapt attention that a schoolboy give a favorite teacher. “My cousin Robert, is not dead, but I supposed that serves as no proof either way. Perhaps he sends his spirit abroad. We saw Dr. Dee last night and he is known to truck with such things.”

Marlowe’s eyes widened. “Robert…Robert Southwell is your cousin.”

Will nodded, his stomach twisting. Should he have kept his mouth shut? Could he trust Kit? With this?

“You keep blaming yourself for Baxter’s death, when the guilt should rest solely on me. Will, I was…am Topcliff’s informant. I called him to the theater that day, intending to turn you over. Your pretty face and lovely form seemed, at the time, to be worth less than the money Topcliff would give me. But when I heard your play…There is much greatness in you. You will be…you are a better man than I and you will be a better poet. I could not…I would not cut that short by giving you to him. So I gave him Baxter instead. Later, I saw you go to your cousin’s. I went and talked my way in, once you had gone. I warned them all that Topcliff would becoming, and then went to the man myself.”

Nausea rolled in Will’s stomach and bubbled up his throat. “Why?” He managed to choke out. “Why would you do such a thing?” His eyes itched with tears he would not shed.

“They had time to flee and did. I was able to sell credible information to both Topcliff and his superiors. I was paid twice, Southwell and that family went free. Everyone got something that they wanted. And I managed to protect you from the hangman’s noose. Or more likely, out of Topcliff’s torture chambers. I remained useful to Topcliff and you remained whole and hale. If I have to sacrifice your cousin in order to ensure both of those things, I will, but until then I will stay a step ahead.” Kit’s lips stretched in a grin that didn’t matched the fevered burning of his eyes. “I bed Thomas Walsingham for the same reason. To stay a step ahead. He is well placed to ensure that I remain useful or that I am warned of my impending doom.”

“Thomas…The young man you kissed at the tavern?”

Kit nodded. “His uncle has the Queen’s ear.”

Will gaped. “You’re mad.”

Kit shrugged. “Mayhap. My inspiration lives at the edges of life, so there is where I must chase it.”

Will shook his head, a helpless smile stretching his face. The idea is so…Marlowe, that he can’t help the smile.

Kit’s gaze flicked to the satchel again. “I could sell whatever is inside that to Topcliff and split the money with you. You could send some to your family.”

Will shook his head. “No. There is only the one copy. I…in my fever last night, I nearly burned it, but I must return it to my cousin.”

Kit frowned. “What is it?”

Will exhaled, slowly. “A book. Half written and meant for the Queen. To convince her of the Catholic cause.”

Kit’s eyes widened and he stared at the bag. “Does he realize that that is quite mad? She defeated the Armada from Spain only last year. Her Majesty is still seeing Catholic spies everywhere. In a year or two perhaps.”

Will considered this. Kit was probably right. The Queen was still lusting for blood after how close the Spaniards came to English shores. It seemed a fruitless endeavor and likely to get someone killed. Should he just give it to Kit? Let Kit profit from it and worry no more about it? He could tell Southwell, when and if he came looking for it, that it was taken from the playhouse. Actually, that would ensure that Robert himself stayed away. If the playhouse was under suspicion, then he’d been to wary of spies from Topcliff to come around.

“Take it.” Will hefted his bag up onto his lap and opened it. The manuscript was charred, but still perfectly legible. 

“You’re serious?” Kit cocked an eyebrow.

Will nodded and handed it over. “Yes. I’m serious. Take it. Do whatever you like with it. I don’t want to see it again. It’s dangerous and my cousin is going to get someone killed. Possibly me. And I cannot do that to my children.”

Kit’s gaze jerked up sharply, that smirk back on his mouth. “Children, have you? And a lovely wife at home, I suppose.”

Will tilted his head, dropping the bag back to the floor. “At home, yes. In Stratford. I have three children. You didn’t know?”

Kit shook his head. “What care have I for men’s wives?”

Will narrowed his eyes, examining Kit’s face. “Are you…are you jealous?”

Kit snorted. “Of you? Why should I be?”

“No, you have no cause to be jealous of me.” Will chewed his lip. “No, of my wife. You’re jealous of my wife. Why?”

Kit’s mouth smirked, but his eyes blazed. Will could not tell if it was anger there. “Perhaps, a little. What’s her name?”

“Anne.” 

“Anne Shakespeare.” Kit seemed to be tasting the words. “A lovely name for what is no doubt a lovely woman. How long have you been married?”

“Seven years. Why so many questions, Kit?”

Kit leaned back in his chair, the fire in his eyes hardly dimmed. “I am imagining it. You were quite young when you married. If you have three children, you must have enjoyed laying with her. Do you love her?”

Will stilled, wondering at the train of thought. “Do I love her? That is…complicated. The best answer is yes, but not in the way you mean. I love her because she has been my companion for years. I love her because she is mother of my children. I do enjoy laying with women, but I also enjoy bedding men. The two are not mutually exclusive, you know.”

Kit grinned, sharkish. “Oh believe me, I know.” He leaned forward again, across the table. “So then, William Shakespeare, if you enjoy bedding men, would you let me kiss you?”

Will was startled into laughter by the question. “I would encourage it, Christopher Marlowe.”

“Good.” Kit stood and rounded the table. 

Will pushed his chair back so he could watch Kit move. Kit slid to his knees when he reached Will and pushed between his thighs, forcing Will to lean forward for the kiss. Kit slipped his hands up those spread thighs, questing fingers burrowing into Will’s clothing seeking skin. 

At the first touch of Kit’s tongue, Will started, but didn’t retreat. Instead, he tugged at Kit’s shirt until the other back up so he could pull it over his head. Will discarded his own shirt and dropped them both to the floor. 

Kit’s torso was littered with tattoos, the black ink standing out against his pale flesh. Will ran his fingers over them, watching the images vanish and reappear. Kit watched Will. “Do you like them?”

Will nodded and looked up to meet Kit’s gaze. He was grinning wickedly. “I have more. Would you like to find out where?”

Will’s own smile turned wolfish. “It will be my pleasure.”

Kit leaned up for another kiss, murmuring, “Hmm. Yes, it will.”


End file.
